


Untitled

by justbygrace



Series: Stories I'll Never Write [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Kid!Fic, So much angst, Starts off that way anyway, loosely connected segments, police drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: I kid you not - Untitled was the working title.The "chapters" are meant for rather distinct portions of their lives and they are rather disjointed - so please read with that knowledge. I was experimenting with an idea - it was clearly a failed experiment.I knew where this was going when I first wrote it, but that was like five years ago and I have much less of an idea now. Some of you may remember these parts as some of them were once upon the interwebs.





	1. Chapter 1

This is not at all how Rose Tyler planned to spend her summer. She is supposed to be on a bus heading to summer camp with Mickey and Shareen, not stuck in the middle of god-knows-where staying with grandparents she barely knows. In some corner of her mind, she can hear the echoes of the many arguments she and her mum have gotten into over the past school year. She knows the fights are mainly responsible for her being shipped out here instead of being allowed to go to camp with the rest of the neighborhood kids. She is just past fourteen and it's not her fault she gets emotional over tiny things, she thinks bitterly, picking up tiny rocks from the garden and hurling them towards the trees.

There is a small path winding through the woods on the far side of the backyard and she makes her way towards it. It looks well-used and mysterious and exactly the type of path that she is sure leads to danger. A glance back at the house shows that no one has noticed her absence and she ducks down under a branch and starts down the trail. The woods are neither dark nor mysterious, but she doesn't care, focusing instead on the flowers and rocks that pass underneath. She is paying so little attention to where she is going that when the path suddenly ends, leaving her on an expanse of flat rock that dips down into the river, she can't help her squeak of surprise. She makes her way to the edge of the water, bending down and trailing her fingers through the water. 

"Hello!" A voice says from behind her.

The noise she makes is less of a squeak and more of a high-pitched squeal. Jumping to her feet and spinning around she sees a dark-haired boy wearing an oversized blue coat and grinning at her. She crosses her arms and glares at him, barely restraining the urge to stamp her foot as well. 

"Don't do tha,." she says, taking a moment to be happy her voice isn't shaking.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" he asks. 

"Hello." She is aiming for cool and reserved, but he is still grinning at her and she is finding it hard to remain irritated at him.

"What's your name?" he asks, taking a confident step forward.

"Rose. Rose Tyler." 

"I'm Captain Jack Harkness." His voice is full of pride, but it squeaks on the last syllable and ruins the overall affect.

"You're not a captain. You're like fourteen." She rocks back on her heels and observes him. He's not that much taller than her, but his broad-shoulders suggest he will one day actually fit into his coat. 

"You wound me. I'm fifteen!" he says, holding one hand to his heart dramatically.

Before she has a chance to say anything else, she hears a shouted "Run!" and turns to see another boy racing towards them. Jack immediately turns to do so, but she stays where she is, watching the new boy approach. When he gets close enough, he - still running - reaches out a hand and without thinking she grabs it, allowing herself to be pulled behind him. They join up with Jack, who has taken refuge on top of a giant boulder about thirty feet further down the shoreline. 

"Should be a good one," the new boy says, his whole body shaking with barely suppressed excitement. "Think it's gonna be my best one yet. Well, probably. Well, maybe. Well, not if you count the one on New Year's. But if you don't count that one, than this one will be spectacular. Absolutely bloody fantastic. In fact..."

"Doc, shut up," Jack says laughing. 

"Oi!" the other boy exclaims, but before he can say anything else, there is an explosion and sparks and fire suddenly shoot into the sky from the far side of the rocky beach.

"Oh!" Rose exclaims. "Did you do that?"

"Yep!" The boy is grinning at the fireworks. "Best homemade fireworks east of the Mississippi."

Rose took a moment to study him. His hair is lighter than Jack's, with a mind of its own - it looks like he rolled out of bed, crawled through some bushes, and then ran his hands through it. He is wearing a leather jacket that might have belonged to an older brother, and where Jack is broad and muscular, this boy is wiry and scrawny. It takes her a moment to realize she is still holding his hand and once she does, she forces herself to let go, even though she finds herself oddly reluctant to do so. The action gets his attention and he half turns to look at her. His face is young, but his eyes look old. But when he grins at her, she forgets everything else for a moment, helpless to do anything but grin back at him.

"Hi!" he says brightly. "I'm the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" She arches an eyebrow at him and then swings her head to look at Jack. "The Doctor and the Captain, huh?"

"That's us," Jack agrees, but his tone is slightly questioning.

"Bit of a team, him and me," the Doctor says and she can't help a laugh at his excited tone. "The names fit us, though, you'll see. Oh, that reminds me. I'm almost out of potassium nitrate and peanut butter. We need to go into town. Also we should stop by the scrap pile. Because I'm pretty sure I saw Mrs. Gallagher down there and she always leaves a bunch of cans and bottles and my stack is running depressingly low. And I got a new idea for a smoke bomb, a brilliant idea really. But then, most of my ideas are brilliant. Well, I say most, I mean all." 

He hops off the rock, still vaguely talking, and Jack follows suit. Rose stays where she is, unsure if they want her to follow them and, if they did, whether that is a good idea. She can hear her mum's voice in her head, warning her about strange men and danger, but Jack and the Doctor...they are different. Not safer exactly, just, she isn't even sure how to describe it. She only knows, even in the five minutes of standing on a rock watching the remnants of homemade firecrackers, that she will be okay with them.

The two boys walk a few steps, side by side and then Jack reaches out and shoves the Doctor's shoulder and she can hear his ringing laughter. The Doctor pauses mid-stride, seems to consider for a moment, and then turns and half-glances over his shoulder.

"You coming then?" he calls. His tone implies he is trying for casual, but it is a bit too breathless to hit it entirely.

She grins to herself, jumping off the rock and racing towards them. Her smile widens when they automatically shift so that she can walk between them. "Course I am."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where all the angst and domestic violence bit comes in.
> 
> An alternate version of the next segment.

That night when Mickey reaches for her, she pushes him away. At his hurt expression, she mutters something about "tired" and "time of the month" and "long day." His expression says he doesn't believe her, but he rolls over on his back and closes his eyes. It doesn't take long before he starts snoring and she has to suppress a shudder. She slides on her shoes on her way through the apartment and grabs her car keys and wallet. She tries not to think, this isn't premeditated, she doesn't want to be held accountable later. 

"It's just a breath of fresh air," she mutters, pushing open the front door and slipping into the night. 

The air is refreshingly cool and she makes a conscious effort not to plan a course of action as she makes her way down the outside flight of stairs and onto the sidewalk, focusing instead on the sound of her feet hitting the pavement and the slight smell of smoke and oncoming rain and fried foods. Somehow her feet carry her to the park and she settles on one of the swings, feet absently scuffing into the dirt. Not enough for a concentrated swing, more of a jerky rhythm. She stares at the slide and the monkey bars and intently doesn't think about anything at all. 

She isn't surprised when the swing next to her creaks slightly, protesting the weight of the intruder. She doesn't turn to look, knowing full well who has sought her out, focusing instead on the shadows dancing across the grass and mulch, watching as the other swing bounces and sways briefly before evening out. The fabric of a long coat slides across her arm on the downswing and she can't help but shift a bit, though she isn't entirely sure if it's towards or away from the feeling.

"Do you remember the day we stole that canoe?" Her own voice surprises her and she jumps, startled.

"Sure do." If he is surprised by the question, he doesn't show it and she finds herself unaccountably reassured. 

"We made it almost to the next town and we camped on the beach and when we realized we didn't have any food, you laughed and I panicked. And do you remember what he did?" She can't remember why she feels breathless, but she suddenly does.

"He snuck into town and got us pizza." The answer is soft and she wonders what he is thinking.

"And that night we huddled under a tarp on old army blankets and the three of us stayed up burning sticks and talking half the night." She pauses, unsure whether or not she wants him to interrupt this foray down memory lane. "We talked about everything that there was to say, but I'm not sure if we ever said anything worth saying that night. Not really. At least, he didn't."

"I remember." His voice is low and she can hear his feet dragging over the hardened dirt beneath him, trying to slow down the swing.

"That's my favorite memory." She keeps her gaze focused resolutely ahead. "When we got back everyone was so angry with us, but it was worth it. Well, mostly worth it." She can't keep the tremor out of her voice and hates herself for it. "That was the day my grandparents decided they weren't doing a good job with me. And that was the night of the Dance." 

His swing has slowed all the way down now and she can see his shadow swaying on the grass in front of them. 

She takes a deep breath in and holds it, feeling her lungs burn at the sensation and hearing his voice in her head explaining the science behind it all. "I asked you to dance with me and you told me you weren't that kind of man," she blurts it out, half afraid she'll lose her nerve partway through the sentence.

"I wasn't." His tone leaves no doubt in its wake and she didn't expect any.

"Yeah, I know. I'm not that kind of woman either." She bites her tongue with the force of keeping her mouth shut.

They sit in silence for awhile and she remembers why she liked him so much and why she missed him almost, if not entirely, as much as she missed _him_. She knows he is mulling over what she said, trying to find the importance in the memory.

"Why do you think you would have to be?" His question is spot-on and she knew it would be, but it still catches her slightly off guard.

"I don't compete, not anymore," she says. It isn't an answer and they both know it; she learned how not to say anything with the best of them and damned if she hasn't put those lessons into good use.

"You wouldn't have to, Rose." His use of her first name snags her attention and she chances a glance in his direction. He is staring straight ahead, gaze fixed on the slide, but she can see his mind whirring. People always said _he_ was the one with the mind of a genius (and he was, is), but Jack's mind should never be taken for granted. 

"He seems pretty happy." 

He barks a laugh. "Him? Happy?" 

"Seemed it, yeah." She crosses her arms and glares at her shoes.

"Been a long while since you've had to read him, I guess." 

She jerks away from him and he seems to realize what he's said because he reaches for her arm, but she jumps off the swing and his fingers close on air. He staggers off the swing and walks over to her, stopping just inside the bounds of decorum. 

"I'm sorry, Rose. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have." Her voice sounds more bitter than she meant it to and she winces a bit.

"It's just." He cuts off, rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "I've watched him bury his emotions for six years. Watched him jump from one thing to another with that stupid puppy dog grin and floppy hair, refusing to sit still." He takes a step forward and she takes a step back, she isn't afraid of him exactly, but she doesn't need him figuring out her secrets just yet. He gets the hint because he stops, rocking back and forth a bit, gaze sliding off hers and focusing on something just behind her left ear. "I've seen him bury his feelings in every goddamn blonde in every town we've ever been in."

Jealously claws at her throat for a moment and she backs up another step, fighting everything down. She knows she can't say anything about it. What is she supposed to say anyway? I wish he'd pined over me? That was stupid, after all, she hadn't. She finally finds her voice again and chokes out the words. "I was talking about that one with him today."

"Today?" His gaze shifts to her face and one eyebrow raises. "Who was there today?"

She valiantly avoids rolling her eyes. Typical. "The one in leather?"

"Ahh. Martha." He moves his hands to his pockets and leans backwards. "She has a bit of a thing for him, poor girl."

"Poor girl?" She questions, studiously ignoring the flash of hope.

"He has a pretty specific type." He chuckles and raises that eyebrow at her again. "Blonde?"

Before she can respond, he reaches towards her presumably to touch her hair, but she shifts and his hand hits her shoulder. She can't tamp down the wince and he catches it, eyes narrowing.

"Rose? What's wrong?" His voice is deep and concerned and she can't handle it.

"Nothing. 'M fine." She takes more steps backwards and half turns, wondering what the shortest path back to Mickey's place is.

He advances towards her before she can think it through. "You're hurt." It isn't a question and she doesn't respond. "You're wearing sunglasses. At 11:30 at night."

"I'm just gonna," she gestures vaguely over her shoulder. "Go."

"Running again?" He folds his arms and fixes her with a look that is both disappointed and concerned.

"Jack..." She says his name before she actually has anything to say to him and trails off because there is no end of that sentence.

"Was it Mickey?" 

"What, no! What do you know about Mickey?" She scrambles to keep from panicking. Again. As usual.

He doesn't say anything, merely stands there observing her, arms crossed and gaze forbidding. 

"Did you learn that from the Doctor?" She asks sarcastically, waving a hand to indicate his stance.

"It wasn't Mickey then." he says. "You can tell me."

"So you can what? Tell him? Tell everyone?" She can hear her voice rising, trembling with barely restrained emotions. "No thanks Jack. I don't need that. I'm not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah?" He reaches forward and snags her wrist, using his other hand to drag up her shirt sleeve. "What do you call this?"

She gasps, half in pain half in anger and wrenches her arm out of his grasp, protectively smoothing her sleeve down. She reaches down to try to harness the anger, to use it to bite out a retort, but she can't find anything. She doesn't realize she's crying until she feels his arms around her, holding and soothing. His arms are gentle and she knows he is half afraid to touch her, unsure where her bruises are. 

"I'm sorry, Rose. I'm so, so sorry," he repeats it over and over and she lets herself cry into his shoulder. She doesn't even know what she is crying about anymore, not really, just that it's been a long time since she has allowed herself the luxury. 

Eventually her tears runs out and she heaves a deep breath, sniffing in an attempt not to rub snot into his coat. She makes herself pull back and he lets her. She rubs at her cheeks, careful not to dislodge her sunglasses too much. "You're gonna tell him, aren't you." 

"He already knows." Jack doesn't say what, exactly, he knows, and she doesn't ask. 

She nods anyway and takes a few more steps backwards. "I'm gonna go."

"Okay." He shoves his hands in his pockets and his posture is a study in nonchalance. "You gonna give him a chance?"

She pauses. She wants to say no, absolutely she isn't. She has a life. She has a job and a boyfriend, but then she remembers that she doesn't have any of that, not anymore. And anyway, even if she had, of course she would drop it all for him. She also knows that Jack knows all of this and she feels a flare of irritation at him for asking. "Maybe." 

He nods once. "I hope you do."

They stand there awkwardly for a moment before she realizes he is waiting for her to leave first. 

"Okay then. Night." She gives him a half wave before turning and half fleeing out of the park. She can't hear anything beyond the slap of her feet on the concrete and the frantic pounding of her own heart. It isn't until she turns the key in the front door that she realizes she never locked it and it isn't until she lays down next to Mickey that she realizes she is crying again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I switch tenses right in the middle of this "chapter" but I don't care enough to edit it because I wrote this story like five years ago.
> 
> An alternative version of the previous chapter.

Honestly, she shouldn't even be out tonight. None of them should. But attempting to tell Shareen that there was no way in hell that a trip to the bar on a Friday night was a good idea wasn't going to happen. It just wasn't. People called her stubborn and strong-willed, but Shareen had all of those traits doubled, tripled in intensity. It wasn't like a drink didn't sound like a good idea because absolutely it did. It sounded fabulous, as a matter of fact. But the city was dangerous right now and wandering around at night was a bad life choice. Mickey, ever the gentleman, had offered to escort them and keep them safe and Rose had morphed a chuckle into a cough. Mickey was a lot of things, but forbidding was not one of them. There was also the matter of his tendency to get more wasted than Shareen on a Friday night and Rose knew she was going to end up drinking more club soda and less whiskey sours. 

Now, seated at the bar and watching the condensation build up on the outside of her glass, Rose was reminding herself that people could call her determined all they wanted but she was really a huge pushover when it came to her friends. Mickey was playing darts by the back corner (and getting his ass handed to him most likely) and Shareen was half sprawled across the counter, chatting up some dude with a bad haircut and the tattoo of a panda bear on his left bicep. His laugh was starting to grate on Rose's already frayed nerves and she briefly considered whether tipping his already leaning bar stool completely over was worth it. It probably would be, honestly, but there was the outside chance that Shareen was sober enough to know that Rose was responsible and she would be angry. And an angry drunk Shareen equaled an obstinate Shareen and there would go their chances of making it home before three am, let alone before midnight. Rose sighed to herself and swiveled in her seat to survey the crowd.

It was obvious the city was on high alert, this place was usually a madhouse on Friday nights, but tonight there was only a handful of souls stupid enough to venture out in public after dark. Most of them were in groups or pairs though, they may have been determined enough to drink in public, but not completely crazy. Rose sighed again, kicking the rung of her stool fitfully. It wasn't like she'd really go home with a random guy tonight (she was loyal to her friends, not stupid), but what was the use of a bar on a Friday night without the added benefit of a cute guy to flirt with for a couple of hours? She wouldn't go home with one, there was Mickey to consider after all. They weren't really a couple per se, but they weren't not a couple either. He was a warm body who took her mind off of everything in the dark of night when her nightmares were the worst. He was a hand to hold (and oh, she had always needed a hand to hold) and a presence in the apartment so she didn't do something particularly stupid. But she wasn't going to marry him or anything like that. She didn't really even introduce him as her anything special. And yeah, so she caught his hurt expression when she introduced him without the "boy" at the beginning of "friend," but he should just know that she couldn't commit to any sort of happily-ever-after. After all, they had known each other since the time of building blocks and giant crayons, he had _been there_ for her through the years. It wasn't particularly fair to him, she knew that, but if he wanted to leave he just had to say so. It wasn't like she had him tied up. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a familiar laugh and she closed her eyes for a moment. Surely this was too good to be true. No way was he here tonight, not when she needed his comforting presence the most. Life was never that kind. She gritted her teeth and opened her eyes, forcing herself to look towards the doorway. Her breath caught when she saw him, striding towards her, arms open to greet her, long blue coat flying out behind him.

With a half-choked cry, she leaps off her stool and straight into his waiting arms. He laughs, swinging her around for a moment. 

"God, you're here." She breathes into his shoulder, comforted already by the all-too-familiar smell of expensive whiskey and gunpowder residue. 

"Just Jack will do," he says, squeezing her again, before setting her back on her feet.

She laughs and hits his shoulder. "You're still incorrigible, I see."

"And you're still beautiful," he grins down at her.

She blushes a little at that. They were the best of friends, had been for years, and Jack's opinion meant more to her than nearly anyone else's. "Drink?" She gestures back to the bar.

"Absolutely!"

Rose leads them to the far end of the counter, far enough from Shareen and Panda-Man that their conversation could have the ruse of being private. She is vaguely surprised when he orders top-shelf whiskey straight. 

"Rough day?" she asks, leaning on one elbow to better see his face.

"It's getting better." He winks at her over the rim of his glass. If it was anyone else, it would be over the top, but coming from him it just gives her the peculiar sensation of coming home.

"I know the feeling." This was a comfortable routine and she has missed this, missed him.

He finishes his glass with a single long swallow and holds up a finger to order another. From this angle, she can see the telltale signs of worry and stress and she narrows her eyes at him. "Why're you here?" 

"Besides to catch up with the lovely Rose Tyler?" He salutes her with his glass.

"Jack..." her voice is gentle, but she isn't about to let this go.

He sighs, setting his glass back on the counter and angling his body towards hers. "I didn't want to discuss this so soon." He shifts in his seat and glances at her and then away. "I've been called in to consult on the case."

"Ahh. Figured you would be." She nods at him. "You're the best."

"I'm not though." He faces forward again and picks up the glass, worrying it. 

She desperately wants to say something, but she can't bring herself to say the words that will shatter the already fragile moment. She curses the universe for never giving her something without taking something else away. Would it really be so terrible if she got a reprieve? Just a night to enjoy with one of her dearest friends without anything else hanging over them and threatening to break everything apart.

"Rose," he starts and then stops. 

It's weird, this version of Jack who is hesitant and she really wants to run from this conversation. After all, running is what she is good at. Learned from the best, she thinks bitterly. She knows Jack is hoping she will pick up the sentence where he left off, but she won't give him the pleasure. 

"Rose, I didn't come alone. I brought the team." He finally spits it out.

It's not like she was expecting a different answer, but there had been a tiny spark of hope there. She gets a perverse amount of enjoyment in watching it burn out. She doesn't know how to respond to him though and she chooses to maintain her silence.

He sighs and taps a finger against the counter, a nervous habit he never quite broke himself of and she can't help the momentary quirk of her lips at it. It's gone as fast as it was there, but he catches it and his face falls even further.

"It's been hell for you, hasn't it." It's apropos of nothing and yet so spot-on.

She wants to deny it, to feign ignorance, but they've known each other for too long, gone through too much for that to work. "A bit yeah." It's not a denial, but neither is it an acknowledgement. 

He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and then opens it again. "I'm sorry." It wasn't what he started to say and they both know it.

"S'not your fault." The words are practically meaningless, but they fill up the space in between them. 

"He's not happy either," Jack says it to his now-empty glass.

"Wouldn't blame him if he was." That's a blatant lie.

"He doesn't know you're here."

"Here as in...?"

"As in this city." He chances a glance at her. 

"You didn't tell him?" She can't help the slight pitch of her voice.

He winces slightly. "What was I supposed to say, Rose? Hey, you know that serial killer who is terrorizing an entire city? Yeah, it's the same city where Rose lives. Oh, and by the way, you're probably going to run into her on the street."

She rolls her eyes at the dry tone. "Well, when you put it like that."

"He'll find out soon enough anyway," Jack shrugs.

"He doesn't," she clears her throat and tries again. "He doesn't know who I am, right?" 

"No!" Jack looks horrified. "Rose, no!" He pauses, looks down, and then forces himself to meet her eyes. "He's going to look for the author though."

"Yeah, I figure he's gonna try." She pushes her napkin in circles on the counter. "You're a good friend, Jack. Thanks. I just, I really need this."

"I know you do." He reaches a hand over and rests it on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'm going to do everything I can to help. Short of actively hindering an ongoing federal investigation and even then, I may make an exception." 

The grin he gives her is the old Jack, the wild and crazy Jack who was always the first to suggest daredevil stunts and who jumped into danger without a thought to the consequences to himself, wanting only to make sure his friends were safe. She can't help but grin back, feeling the years drain away.

Mickey chooses that moment to stumble over and drape himself over her shoulder. "Roooose." He sings it directly into her ear canal and she has never disliked him more than she does in that moment. Nevertheless, this is her life and these are her choices. She pats his arm and turns to press a kiss into his cheek. She can see Jack giving her a look, but he has absolutely no room to speak and he knows it. 

Mickey flops his head around and sees Jack for the first time. "Captain Cheescake!" he shouts.

"Rickey." Jack inclines his head and even though she knows why he makes the deliberate mistake, it grates on her just a bit.

Mickey is apparently beyond caring because he just laughs and thumps Jack on the arm. "Rooooooose," he sings out again. "Let's go home, yeah?" 

"Yeah, Micks. Let's go home." 

She pushes him off of her shoulders so that she can slide off the stool. She regards Jack for a moment, vainly wishing that things were different. But which things? Honestly, she doesn't even know anymore. Once she starts naming things, it's bound to be a long list and pretty soon she'll have rewritten most of her life. She is still irritated with him, but she's also pretty sure she's spent most of their friendship being vaguely irritated at him. She can't help the smile at the thought and he gives her an answering one. He stands up and holds out his arms and she walks into them, resting her head on his shoulder. Neither of them speak, but words aren't necessary, not after all this time. 

At length she stands back and he lets her. "I'll see you around then?" 

"I look forward to it." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, but she knows hers doesn't either.

"Come on Mickey." She grabs his arm and tugs him towards the door. "Lets find Shareen and get out of here."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This segment and the next are two different ways the same basic event could have gone.

It's not like Rose meant to be down at the station at quarter after eight, casually sitting outside of a corner cafe and sipping a caramel macchiato at the exact moment when the SUVs with government plates and tinted windows pulled up. Or at least, that's what she told herself. No one could recognize her, three years of living below the radar and concealing her identity had taught her well and she was sporting a fabulous black wig and a leather trench coat. She wasn't even entirely sure Jack could recognize her and she knew he was going to be on the lookout for her anytime his team was in public. 

She wasn't entirely sure why she was there. Okay, that was a lie. She knew exactly why she was channeling her inner ninja and it had everything to do with the man who had just exited from the driver's door of the lead SUV. He was wearing a brown pinstriped suit and tan trench coat and his hair was defying gravity and she had to grip the edge of the table to keep from flinging herself across the street at him. He paused mid-stride and surveyed the area, which was probably a thing an FBI Agent was supposed to do, but she couldn't help the hope that it had something to do with somehow sensing her. It was a ridiculous notion and she knew it, but seeing him standing there, mere feet away from her, bouncing slightly on his toes as his gaze swept over her, she wanted desperately to believe. Then he turned, resting his hand for a moment on the shoulder of a woman with ginger hair and a carrying voice and the moment was lost. 

She waited until the doors of the station swung shut behind them before standing up and setting off downtown. She told herself it had everything to do with not accidentally catching Jack's eye (he was surprisingly good at seeing through her disguises), but she knew it had a lot more to do with just seeing the Doctor for those few more seconds. After all, they didn't end because she didn't love him anymore.

She took the steps to her flat two at a time. It was a modest place, hardly big enough to turn around in, but it was all she needed. Mickey (one of the four people in the universe who knew her secrets, well, most of them anyway) constantly made not-so-subtle references to her spending her profits on a bigger and better place, but she had no need for that. This place was cozy and homey and it was all hers. She let Mickey and Shareen and Jack - if he was in town - come back and hang out here, but everyone knew no one spent the night. It had been her haven after the Doctor, after Jimmy, after she had become Cassandra O'Brien and that name sat at the top of six separate bestsellers lists for 18 months straight.

She knew that in order for the Doctor and his team to crack this case, he was almost definitely going to have to talk to her, but she certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Yes, she wanted her stalker, her admirer, her number one fan gone, but she didn’t want to talk to the Doctor in order to do it. Flicking her blinds closed, she sank onto her couch and dragged her laptop towards her. She had a couple favors to cash in to keep the past at bay for at least one more day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternative version of the previous "chapter."
> 
> This cuts off rather abruptly so prepare yourself for that.

If it wasn't for the ever-increasing sense of foreboding, it would be like any other Monday morning. Alarm at 6:30, exercise routine to the beat of the latest Pop hits, in and out of the shower, coffee and a pastry from the shop on the corner of 3rd and Washington, a brief glance at the headlines via her phone, and she was pulling into her parking spot at a quarter to 8. She paused to glance at herself in the mirror of her compact, her makeup did a good job at covering the worst of the evidence of lost sleep and appetite and she mentally congratulated herself. She could definitely pull this off. She was first and foremost a professional and right now it was time to prove to everyone why she was, at the tender age of 25, the head of the city's agency. 

She stepped out of the car smoothly, straightening her shoulders and lifting her head. Time to show him exactly what he was missing. There was a rebellious bit of her heart that whispered something along the lines of what she was missing, but she deftly shut it out. She sailed around security and into the elevator. She made small talk with some Agent, who she suspected was harboring a crush on her. She wasn't the slightest bit interested, but it took the sharpest edges off of her anxiety. When the elevator dinged at her floor, she wound her way through the mass of desks, headed through the bull pen and up the stairs to her office, buoyed on the polite "good morning ma'ams" that followed her. She knew they wouldn't be there yet (his propensity for ignoring time was as much a legend as anything else) and she half wished he would be on time for once in his life. She couldn't handle a protracted waiting period, not with the way her nerves were attempting to tap dance their way out of her body. As if on cue, she heard the elevator ding and she closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before turning around to watch him cross the bull pen. 

He was dressed in a brown pinstriped suit with his ever-present trench coat sailing out behind him. His hair was longer than ever, haphazardly standing in all directions and his facial hair suggested too many late nights and not enough time to care. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe of her office, eyes following his every move. She was at the advantage here, she knew he was coming and she wanted to see the exact moment he saw her. She was vaguely aware of the other agents on his team, following behind him like puppies. Jack had spotted her already and his gaze was flitting back and forth with a worried expression. The Doctor paused mid-stride to speak to one of her agents, no doubt asking who was in charge. She couldn't hear the response, but his gaze swung upwards and when they landed on her he almost stumbled. She pushed away from the wall and headed for the stairs, it was time to get this party started. 

She paused halfway down, letting him cross the rest of the way. It was power play and childish and she honestly didn't care. This was still her agents and her city and she was damned if she was going to let him come in and take it all away from her. 

He waited two steps down from her, a myriad of emotions playing across his face as he stared up at her. His eyes were every bit as old and telling as they'd ever been and she took a moment to read him. Hope, fear, disbelief, apology, distrust, anger, love...they were all vying for dominance. She wasn't sure which one she wanted to win. 

"Rose." He was the one to break the silence. Her heart clenched at the familiar sound, the drawl of his accent, and the shape of his lips as they formed her name. 

"Doctor," she returned, keeping her tone deliberately cool when all she wanted was to throw her arms around him and show him just how much she had missed him. 

No one said anything else for a long minute before a throat clearing from behind him reminded her they weren't unobserved. She lifted her chin and gestured back down the stairs. "After you."

He stepped back slowly, seemed to wrench his gaze away from her, right hand balled in a fist at his side. She followed them to the foot of the stairs and wasn't surprised when his team stopped at the bottom to allow her to breeze past them.

"Agents Smith, Jones, and Mitchell, conference room," she called, gratified to see them leaping to their feet to follow in her wake. She really did hate this show of power, that this is what they had come to, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. 

Once in the room, her team and his took opposites side of the long table, leaving both ends open for them. He immediately deferred the head to her, moving to seat himself at the foot and she felt a brief flash of discomfort at having him so far away before she shoved it back down, covering it with a professional smile.

An introduction of the teams was short and to the point. Hers: Mickey Smith, Harriet Jones, Adam Mitchell. His: Jack Harkness, Donna Noble, Martha Jones. She had never met the ladies, but she had heard of them, obviously. 

"Right." She said once everyone knew everyone's names. "First things first. We are a joint taskforce, but the locals don't know you. They trust me and my team and we will be taking point on any interaction with them. Information needs to be shared between all of us, none of us will benefit from withholding any scraps in some play for glory." She paused weighing her next words. "I understand that in the heat of the moment, decisions will need to be made, but I ultimately answer for them, so please run things by me when you can. Any questions?"

No one said anything and she made sure to give everyone eye contact. Her team was looking slightly surprised, she rarely ran this tight of a ship and they knew it. Time enough to answer them later. Jack looked sad, gaze set on the far wall. Agent Noble had an inscrutable look, eyes narrowing as if she is very close to a truth, Rose made a mental note to keep a close eye on her. His Agent Jones looked carefully polite, but it appeared to be a façade. The Doctor was watching her, but his face was devoid of emotion. She reminded herself that this team was well-known for a reason and that their success in interrogation was legendary. 

"Right," she repeated. "If you all want to get started, I need to have a word with the Doctor."

His eyes widened slightly at her words and he pushed back from the table. His team was watching her and her team was watching him and Rose found herself wondering if anything would actually get accomplished. She traded looks with the Doctor and for a moment it seemed like nothing has changed, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

He paused in mid-step to look back at the table. He doesn't say anything, which surprised her, but he made eye contact with every member of his team and that seemed to be enough to propel them into action. Jack jumped to his feet, heading for the whiteboard while Donna pulled out a laptop and Martha handed out file folders. Her team looks a bit taken aback, but they quickly sprung into action as well. Once Rose is positive that information was being shared, she turned her attention back to the Doctor and was not surprised to see him watching her closely.

She didn't say anything, just turned and headed for the door aware that he was right on her heels. She led the way down the hall, through the bull pen and up the stairs towards her office. Once they were both inside, she closed the door behind him and made her way to her desk, sinking into the leather chair behind her desk. He sat down opposite, awkwardly resting his hands on his knees, looking so unsure of himself that her heart clenched with sympathy in spite of herself.

"Doctor," she started, but he cut her off.

"I'm not going to take this away from you," he stated quietly. "The investigation, I mean. It's yours, all your rights and such. I don't want the glory for solving it. If we solve it. When we solve it."


End file.
